Rise Up
by Kathrine
Summary: Shattered Glass AU. Cybertron stands on the brink of a religious war and only one bot can see it.


**Rise Up: Prologue**  
_A 'Shattered Glass' AU, with Heroic Decepticons and Evil Autobots. Yes, you read that right._

The Autobots had taken over the government. That much was clear. Optronix, once a mere acolyte, had destroyed the senate himself; declaring himself both leader of the entire Cybertron Empire and Speaker for Primus. At that time, he also took on a new name: Optimus Prime.

Ostentatious, all agreed. The title of Prime had been buried for centuries, and with good reason. No one bot could handle the amount of power the position held. The Matrix of Leadership, too, was a powerful artifact, and it was said the voices of the dead lingered within. To be in constant contact with it, as the Primes of old were, was to court madness.

He was charismatic; even his detractors had to give him that. He could turn slag in to platinum with words alone. When he preached, even the most hardened of bots flocked to follow. In the beginning it seemed that none would escape the magnetic Prime's sway. His words were insidious in that they turned the unthinkable in to what seemed to be pure logic. Of _course_ Cybertronians, as one of the eldest races, were superior. Of _course_ Primus was their Creator and God, and deserved the love and respect of all.

So of _course_ it was only right that all of the 'verse should worship Primus, and in doing so come under the just guidance of his First Peoples. It was for the lesser races good, after all. They didn't have the wisdom or experience of their elders. And if there were those that should need some gentle persuasion, well, there were plenty of eager followers willing to convert them all. By force, if need be. And it was for their own good, after all.

And all for the greater glory of Primus and Cybertron, _of course_. So many fell to the acolyte's – and later, the Prime's – oily words. Those that did not paid him little attention. The Church, after all, was old and derelict. Things would settle soon enough. They always did, and life did go on, after all.

Megatron had heard something of a young acolyte stirring things up in the Temple, but he was too involved with his studies to pay too much attention. He supposed he could count his love affair with numbers as his own saving grace.

He had been of little importance even at the University; just one more lecturer among many. He had a decent following among his students; his reputation as a fair instructor with a smooth voice granted him that much. Some of his students even kept in touch after their studies. But he was content to fade in to the background for the most part. Independent studies were much easier when you didn't have social commitments overwhelming you, as some of the more affluent faculty did.

That was probably why, Megatron later conceded somewhat ruefully to himself, no one was willing to listen when he had discovered the awful truth. There was such a thing as being too much in the background, but then, Megatron had never expected his theory to yield such terrible and universe-shattering results.

"There is war coming." Megatron had insisted. "The numbers prove it." His fellow mathematicians had all but laughed in his face.

"You are a fool, Megatron," they had said. "There is no real proof your number theory works."

And this was partly true. In theory, using statistics to accurately predict the future on a mass scale should work. But the theory was still young, barely a vorn old. Megatron was still gathering data, and accurately predicting a couple of isolated events did not yet constitute positive proof that his theory was viable.

But Megatron was sure he was right. He had calculated and re-calculated the probability, and all the signs pointed towards the imminence of war. It lurked on the horizon like a heavy black cloud, just waiting to swallow Cybertron whole.

Some days, Megatron thought he was going insane. His absolute certainty seemed to be shared by no one and as the orns passed by his theory was ridiculed more and more, his reputation as a professor falling with it. Megatron wondered more than a few times, bitterly, if perhaps his colleagues were right. Perhaps he really was mad. But the certainty wouldn't leave him, and Megatron racked his processor for a way he could prevent the war that loomed menacingly just out of reach.

But he was only one bot, and he was terribly aware of this depressing thought. At the time, he hadn't thought to connect the rising Optronix with the coming war until it was too late. Later, he wondered if he might have stopped it somehow if he had just _known_. What good were his theories if he could not use them to prevent such tragedies?

When the ball finally dropped and the self-styled Prime stormed the Senate with his backing of priests and disgruntled 'bots Megatron gathered those few who had heeded him and fled underground. They covered their tracks well; losing not even the smallest on the harrowing flight deep in to the bowels of Cybertron. They had brought only what they could carry easily and kept a wary optic upwards, somehow trusting in the former professor to bring them to safety. Megatron was humbled by their trust, and no little nervous. To be responsible for so many was a frightening thought, and he worried constantly on how to protect their little band.

Above, their worst fears were coming to pass. The Prime's Autobots controlled most of the major cities, and every cycle they expanded their influence further. Some joined willingly. Others did not. Those that resisted often found themselves brought up on spurious charges by the Enforcers, who were firmly under the Prime's thumb. Soon, they might not even bother with such niceties.

Now, huddled in a low-powered shelter buried deep beneath the once proud and free streets of Cybertron with a handful of other mechs and femmes and dwindling energon supplies, Megatron wondered what they could possibly do against so many. The future he had so stridently warned against was coming to pass, and it seemed that all they could do was wait and hope.

But hope is such a frail thing, fleeting as a shooting star. It can only sustain for so long before it fades away, leaving naught but broken dreams and shattered lives.

Something would have to be done.

* * *

**A/N:** Just before anyone jumps on my back this fic is _not_ meant to be a mirror for anyone's particular religion, or even religion in general. Religion itself has good points and bad points -- this part of the story simply emphasizes some of the bad points a bit more.  
In _Shattered Glass_, the 'cons are amazed to discover CJ's belief in the creator-figure of Primus. As Optimus Prime is the bearer of the Matrix in the original timeline, it made me wonder what a corrupted Matrix-bearer might do. This bunny resulted.  
And 'Prologue'? Oh yeah. This bunny is also aiming to be _huge_. Provided I can get it all out of my head in a coherent form...if you're really interested in this 'verse, I'll be updating on my writing journal long before the parts end up here -- largely because I seem to be writing this story out of order. (I, uh, seem to do that a lot.) The link is accessible via the homepage listed on my profile. (No, this is not a shameless plug, why do you ask?)


End file.
